


i look up and see the same stars

by Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [22]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Day 1: Parallels, F/M, Jonerys #natch, Jonerys Week, Jonerys Week 2020, Missing Scene, Parallels, Soulmates, Star-crossed, could be rated g but there’s some ‘sensuality’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: In Essos, Dany is alone and cold; thousands of miles away Beyond the Wall, Jon is too.  They have only the stars...for now.For Jonerys Week 2020/Dream of Spring, Day 1: Parallels
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 92
Kudos: 328





	i look up and see the same stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Jonerys Week/Dream of Spring! This is my first of (seven!) for the week, it is very short and is something of a missing moments/total AU with some book stuff thrown in. 
> 
> The two quotes noted are probably my favorite parallel for these two.

“ _Her captain slept beside her yet she was alone.”_

- **Daenerys VII** , A Dream of Dragons

_“Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone.”_

- **Jon V** , A Storm of Swords

* * *

Daenerys stared at the high vaulted ceiling of her chambers, wishing she could feel some kind of warmth, even as the air hung heavy around her and her skin sticky from the humidity. The thin golden silk sheet pooled at her hips and she turned away from her captain, who slept beside her, snoring lightly. She pillowed her cheek on her folded hands, her hair falling over her shoulder, and she shivered.

_How is it that I am in bed with another, sharing my body with him, and yet I feel so alone?_

She closed her eyes, trying to fall into sleep, but dreams did not come. Frustrated, she climbed from the bed and pulled on a robe. Her feet, aimless, led her to the open doors of the balcony and she gazed out over her kingdom. _It is not the Seven Kingdoms, but it will have to do_ , she thought, fisting her hands on the stone wall.

Her heart ached, wishing she had her children with her. Whether it be Rhaego, a child she had never had a chance to feed at her breast and never would, or her dragons, two of her sons locked beneath her feet and one gone, so far away she could scarcely feel his presence. She closed her eyes, trying to feel with her mind, that powerful connection a hook in her heart, pulling at it, but there was nothing, nothing but darkness.

Nothing but _him._

It seemed he was alone too, she could feel his isolation, and the cold that wafted off him, ice and frost, a shiver traveling from her neck down to the base of spine. Her skin pebbled in the thick night air, and she thought perhaps he knew she was there too. He was as alone as she, somewhere cold while she was in the heat of central Essos. If she paused, strained, somewhere mingled with the faint cries of her locked up dragons, she thought she heard a wolf howl.

It made no sense, Dany thought, opening her eyes.

She knew no one from the cold realms, from the North, other than Jorah. Jorah, who was exiled from her, betraying her trust, her protection, and even her love. The man in her dreams, in her heart, he was not Jorah, not at all. She could not see his face, for it was always a shadow, but he felt like her. The weight on his shoulders, pressing him into the ground, and the loneliness. He wanted to feel warm in the same way she did, but she suspected it was different. Perhaps he was just so cold he wanted to feel heat, to thaw his frozen skin, but maybe he wanted what she did.

Maybe he wanted someone who warm his heart too.

For she thought hers was forever cold now.

“My queen?”

The voice called from inside the room. She wrapped her arms around herself, saying nothing; Daario could come find her if he truly wanted. Or he could leave. She heard the clinking of his armor, the rustle of clothing, and not long after the closing of the door behind him. _At least he knows when I do not wish him to stay_ , she thought, continuing to stare at the empty bay, the shadows of the smaller pyramids around her, and what she wished could be the image of her son, flying towards her, but turned out to just be a dark cloud.

She stared up at the stars, at the way they formed shapes, and tried to remember the Dothraki names for them. There was the ladle, the arakh, the horse, and the dog, she thought, picking them out. A bright flash surprised her, and she smiled, watching a great sparkling one shine almost red, sailing through the sky like one of her dragons.

It looked as though it were going to the North, she thought to herself, and wondered what it must be like there. Cold, she imagined.

After some time, she returned to the empty bed, and crawled beneath the sheets, closing her eyes again, and dreamed of him.

The man with the dark curls around his head, with eyes as gray and sharp as flint, and a wolf howling at his side, surrounded by ice, and a blue winter rose growing from within it, filling the air with sweetness.

* * *

The sleeping face of Ygritte beside him should have comforted Jon, should have made him feel as though he had someone with him, understanding him, and beside him for the first time in his life. Except he didn’t feel that at all. He felt cold beneath the warmth of the furs cocooning them and the heat of the cave. The steam from the hot spring near where they slept rose up and wafted over him from a light wind that snuck through a fissure in the cave wall.

He heard her shift, turning away from him, and he barely glanced at her, just saw a tangle of red hair from the corner of his eye. He looked at the dark gravel beside their bedroll, his finger slipping out of the furs and dragging within the dirt, drawing the wolf sigil of House Stark, the sigil he had always wanted to wear as his own, but could not. He was not a Stark, after all.

The wolf dusted away with a light blow of cool breath from his lips. A blank canvas again, he dragged the tip of his finger, scratching out a crude three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. _Maester Aemon_ , he thought. He wondered what the good Maester would think of him, an oathbreaker like he was. _It is to keep my cover. She would tell Mance. Everything would be for nothing. I will have failed Lord Commander Mormont. Halfhand’s death would be in vain._ He shivered under the furs. Any other man would have gladly broken their vows like that. Thrown them away easily enough, for a few moments of pleasure with another. He had to prove he was one of them. _Free Folk. Traitor to the Crows._

It was all he’d ever done. He was good at it after all. Trying to prove himself. Show people he was something he was not.

He was always so alone in it. He wished he had Ghost, but Ghost could not be with him. He closed his eyes, searching through the fog of feelings that roiled inside of him, and he found it, a minute later. He grasped tight, locked on, and the hook pulled on his heart, gave a good yank, and he was seeing through another’s eyes.

The wolf was so far away, the connection weak and nowhere near as strong as it used to be. He dug his nose around in the snow, searching for the scent of a stag, and once he got it, he ran, powerful long legs stretching and muscles straining, eventually coming upon the creature. He felt the blood, hot and spurting in his jaws, and down his throat, and suddenly it was as though he was something else, another creature, this one with fire in his throat, burning as he tore into the blackened flesh of a sheep.

The creature’s jaws were different, they were wider and heavier, his breath hot, steaming, and filled with the taste of ashes. His throat constricted, instead of a howl— _but Ghost did not howl_ —he released a powerful scream, and instead of thoughts of hunting stags and sniffing up the scent of the men who returned to the Wall, instead of trying to find the scent of the one who took care of him, saved him from death, and was his other half, he had thoughts of a woman, betrayal, anger, and the faintest, mournful sob _Mother._

His eyes sprang open, his gasp catching in his chest, and he quickly glanced back to make sure he hadn’t woken Ygritte. She was still sleeping. He carefully extricated himself and tugged on his breeches and a tunic. A heavy fur wrapped around him, he moved to the entrance of the cave. It was freezing, the clear nighttime sky allowing the pure cold of the Lands of Always Winter to smother him in its chill. He did not feel it; he was always cold.

Except for that brief instant. The feeling of another’s mind, the fleeting image of a woman, who was not the one he slept beside.

He stared up at the stars, the dream fading, and instead focused on the pricks of light above. He thought of their names. Remembered what Father told him, when they would go out on hunting trips. Robb always slept like the dead, but he never could sleep. Father blamed Old Nan for scary stories, but Father never slept either. Ned would take him out of the camp and point the stars for him. He spotted the soup ladle, the crescent, the stag, and what Ned said was called the cat, but which he thought looked more like a dog.

Or maybe a wolf.

His eyes widened suddenly, seeing a flash of red and then sparkling, watching a star as it fell from its spot in the dark sky. He smiled briefly, wondering where it was going, and watched as it sailed away, somewhere into the far East. He wondered what is was like there. Hot, he imagined, rather envious. He longed to be warm.

“Crow?”

The harsh name that Ygritte chose to call him instead of his given name slipped out from the cave. He tugged the fur around him, saying nothing. He looked up at the sky once more and then out at the lumps of the other Free Folk in their group, sleeping and snoring. He turned away and went back into the cave, crawling back under the furs.

When he closed his eyes, it wasn’t Ygritte he dreamed of, but a beautiful young woman with silver-gold hair and eyes as vibrant as gemstones, and when he stood beside her, he felt warm.

* * *

“I dreamed of you.”

Dany smiled, her nose almost flush against his, both of them sharing the same pillow. The boat rocked around them, the sea lulling them to sleep earlier, but now it was just comforting, like a mother rocking her babe to sleep. She reached her finger to stroke down the straight line of his nose, while his fingers dragged on the side of her breast, skimming up and down it lazily. “You did? Was this dream in between your attempts to get me to give you all my armies and my dragons and my dragonglass?”

He smiled, which she noted made the scars around his eyes scrunch up. It looked like one of the scars disappeared entirely. It was such a shame someone had hurt him and marred such a beautiful face, she thought, tracing the one that crossed over his left eyebrow and to his cheek. Her fingertip dragged down over the mark and then back up again, her gaze on his peculiar gray eyes, the shade reminding her of the ash that fell after her sons burned their meat.

 _He has the Northern look_ , Jorah told her quietly, after he had returned from Eastwatch, speaking with her during supper, to discuss his recovery and all that had happened in his absence. To tell her of the man who offered the Mormont sword back to him, but who deserved it far more than he. Daenerys thought it peculiar, this man who looked so like the North, while they all said she appeared more Valyrian than even Viserys.

She swished her lips around, chewing on that thought a moment. He had not answered her question, about his dream. Instead the rough pads of his fingers lightly abraded her fine skin, bumping along her ribcage and to the swell of her hip, the silk sheet loosely draped over her arse. The heat she felt with him beside her in this small cabin warmed her from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, the sheet had almost been too much.

All she felt was warmth with him. The way he held her, the curve of his body, the tangle of their feet, and the soft breath from between his parted lips, fluttering her hair from her cheek. She did not think even basking in the flames of Drogon’s fire she could feel as warm as she did now. She closed her eyes, moving closer to him, her arms bumping against the broad planes of his hard chest.

He smelled like the North. The brief exposure she had on that ill-fated journey to save them. She swallowed her dry throat. “Your dream?” she gently prodded.

“My dream,” he murmured. He moved his hand away from her hip, her breasts, and instead he dipped it under her arm and he lightly touched his fist to her heart. It began to beat faster, reaching for his touch. He glanced down at it. Maybe he could even see it threatening to burst forth. Her skin pebbled, his palm lightly covering her breast. “It was some time ago now.”

They barely whispered; they had no idea to be quiet and yet she felt like they needed to be. The feelings she’d felt, with him moving inside of her, the powerful strokes of his body over hers, something ignited. Something she did not understand, but all the stars in the sky blanketed them and she thought maybe even they _were_ the stars. This was the first time she had ever felt like the person she was with was truly with her. She truly was not alone.

“When?” she asked.

“I was beyond the Wall.” He told her quietly about the mission he’d undertaken, betraying the Night’s Watch, becoming an oathbreaker. She thought of that, when she’d heard that their vows were for life and yet here he was, styling himself King in the North, how could she trust someone like that? He’d been reborn of flame, she realized, on that ship moving south, seeing his horrid red scars on his pale marble chest. She confronted Davos, who grudgingly admitted the Red Woman Melisandre did magic, returned him to the world from the beyond.

If she had not birthed dragons from the flames, the blood of the mage, her husband, and her dead son, she would have thought him mad. Except she was the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, and she understood magic in ways that no one else could.

Other than Jon Snow.

She touched the ugliest scar of them all, the one that looked like it might start gushing blood any moment, over his heart. They moved closer again, needing each other. “And you dreamed of me Beyond the Wall?” she murmured.

“I did. I looked at the stars and saw one falling from the sky and that night I dreamed of a woman with silver hair and violet eyes,” he said. He barely smiled; there was sadness in his eyes. “I felt alone. Then I didn’t.”

It sparked a memory for her.

Being alone in that Pyramid, even with Daario, and seeing that star falling from the sky. She dreamed that night of a man with dark hair and eyes whose face she could not see. “I dreamed of you too,” she admitted. This was bigger than the both of them. She gripped at his hand, over her heart. “Do you think it odd? The Dragon Queen and the Wolf King?”

“I’m not a king anymore.”

She smiled. “You are to me.” _My king._

The gray irises narrowed, his pupils widening with want. He husked. “We’re moving farther north. Are you not cold?”

“No,” she whispered. Fire was with her, in her blood and her heart. In her soul. She smiled again, teasing. “Fire and Ice…the wolf and the dragon…what do you think the bards will sing of us Jon Snow?”

Another smile. “I don’t know. I guess that depends on the outcome of this war.”

She pulled her arms away from her chest, to reach for him, her lips resting against his. “Let’s not talk of war,” she advised. She circled her hips up to meet his, delighting in his soft groan, swallowed by her mouth over his again. A moment later, she broke the kiss to breathe, gasping. “I’m not alone with you.”

He shook his head, his large hands tugging her against him, moving so she lay beneath his hard, warm body. “Me either Dany.”

They made love, over and over, and in the early morning hours, she lay against him, lazily peering out the porthole of the cabin and could see the fading stars of the night, the creep of sun smothering them out. She smiled to herself; they’d seen the same falling star, many years ago.

As far to the north as he’d been and as far east as she, they had somehow found each other. Dany closed her eyes and pulled his arm tighter around her hips, finally warm, and finally not alone.

* * *

“You can see every star in the sky from here.”

They both peered up through the crimson leaves of the weirwood, to the black stretch of sky, dotted with millions of white blinking stars, so dense you could hardly make out the shapes. If not for the brightest of them all, the one that sat high in the sky, a beacon to bring you home, he would not have been able to locate them to show her. He pointed to one, to the right of the bright light. “That is the bear.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “No, that is the _hrakkar._ ”

“What’s that?” he chuckled, having never heard that word before. She burrowed deeper into his side, her small arm clutched over his chest, the other pinned between their bodies. They could not be closer if they tried, but sometimes he thought he could get closer. He had to get closer, his entire body needing her presence, and his blood singing for hers. He had never felt so warm near another in his entire life. No amount of furs or cloaks did what she did to him. It was like his dead heart beat again, she brought it back to life.

“It is a desert lion. Khal Drogo slew one for me, I used to wear the pelt, to feel like he was near me.”

He flinched a bit, at the mention of her dead husband. He wrinkled his nose, wondering if she missed him. She answered him, reading his thoughts, which were never his alone anymore. Not with her. She whispered, “I missed him at the time because I thought he was…well I did come to love him, but even with him, I felt alone. The pelt made me feel like there was someone with me. Holding me. Even if it was a dead animal skin.”

The melancholia hurt him. He understood it too, because he had felt it just the same. They laid under a mountain of furs in the godswood, torches set in the snow around them, to provide light and a bit of warmth, but that they get with each other. He wanted to bring her here, since the moment he dreamed of her, the moment he realized she was real, and she was his and he was hers. To pledge themselves to his gods, to make love beneath the hearttree, and receive their blessing. Everything happened beneath the stars with the Old Gods, he explained to her, and to his delight—and hers—they did in the Dothraki culture too.

With every bit of new information, he came to the conclusion they were meant for each other. The gods had written it down, ages ago, and everything they went through, it seemed to be the same. He did not think anyone could ever understand him, until he heard her voice his same thoughts, fears, and hopes. Until he realized she was the one he dreamed about, in that cave with another woman. She was the star he saw falling from the sky, searching for him.

He bundled her closer, the chill of the Northern night not registering. It couldn’t, with her here. He nuzzled her nose, which wrinkled under his movement. She made a sound he supposed was a giggle, but giggles were too girlish for her; there was nothing girlish about her at all. She was entirely woman; his queen, his lover and his best friend. Her soft, curvy little body pressed harder to his and he responded automatically. He smiled, capturing her lips with his, and swallowing her soft panting moans, his hand cupping her jaw and thumb dipping her chin down, allowing him further entry to her mouth.

They broke a moment later, faces close, their puffs of warm breath mingling. He swallowed the dry patch forming in his throat; she literally took his breath away. “I’ve never felt like how I feel with you,” he admitted. It was hard to say; he was not a bloody poet.

“Me either,” she said.

He wondered what plan the gods had for him, growing up in the shadow of the Stark wolf sigil, a bastard alone in a castle. Forever cold, a lonely wolf howling in the night, and wandering lost in the forest in his dreams. Until somehow, she appeared, the trueborn queen who grew up on the streets, clinging to her Targaryen dragon sigil like a lifeline. Even with the blood of the dragon, in the heat of the desert, she was cold and alone too, and had only her dragons for comfort the way he only had his wolf.

It did not go unnoticed to him how similar they were, despite their opposing natures. The cool as ice queen, with fire in her veins. The fire-eyed wolf, with ice coursing through his veins. Davos commented to him, a long time ago at Dragonstone, about how unique it was she had dragons and he had his wolf, beasts only ever seen stamped on banners and wax seals, but they brought them back. He hadn’t thought much of it, until recently. Until he understood exactly what it meant.

“You’re leaving me Jon Snow.”

He blinked, adjusting to the dim light again, studying her glowing face, peering up at him from the furs. Silver hair kinked around her face, tangled free of knotted braids and wild, pouring over her shoulders and chest. She stroked her finger down his nose; she liked to do that. “Tell me where you are.”

“With you.”

“You went somewhere else for a moment.”

“Just thinking of…of you.”

She smirked. “Glad to hear it. Will you tell me?”

“I don’t understand what the gods wanted of me,” he murmured, staring at the red leaves against their black sky backdrop. He felt faraway again, floating somewhere else. “I don’t think I ever will know truly, but I know for some reason I was meant to find you.”

“Bloody poet you are.”

He felt a cold drop to his chest, glancing to see she was trying to hide her tears. He kissed them away, stroking her face. He smiled. “No, not a poet. Just telling the truth, I think. I always try to do that.”

“Even if it gets you in trouble.”

“Aye,” he chuckled.

They stared back up at the stars, her mouth falling open in a soft gasp, as a bright light arced through the sky. “Oh! It’s beautiful…where you do think it leads?”

 _To us_ , he thought briefly, squeezing her close. He said nothing, feeling her burrow closer to him and his hands slipped lower on her body, waiting for her even breath as she slept beside him, before he carefully spread his fingers over the slightest swell of her belly, ducking his smile into the warmth of her silk spun curls. He fell asleep there, wrapped within her, and even with the cold night air around them, he felt warm and certainly not alone.


End file.
